N1NE
by Fractal Alexander
Summary: "Just one, a few...no family, too...who am I?" The riddle begins with a sniper bullet, a valet ticket, a bottle of dye, a trail of cryptic clues, an unsolved murder, and a decision that will change Katja Obinger's life forever. !NOTE: SEASON 2 SPOILERS! DO NOT READ UNLESS FULLY CAUGHT UP!
1. Prologue

_**Thursday Night  
London, United Kingdom**_

When Carole returned to the hotel room, she found it trashed. The mirrors in the bathrooms were cracked and splattered with a reddish fluid that she initially mistook for blood but realized, upon closer examination, was red dye. The lamps lay shattered on the floor with their shades askew. The pillows and sheets were strewn all about, the mattress shredded on the floor. The grimy windows were wide open, and there was a faint smell of smoke drifting through the air.

Outside of one window, sitting on the balcony, was Katja. Her face was a mess of tears mixed with eyeliner, and in spite of the air being quite warm, she wore her motorcycle jacket zipped all the way up. She had chopped off most of her hair and dyed what was left of it a violent shade of maroon.

"Katja…" Carole raised her hand to brush her partner's cheek. Katja smacked it away. Carole's stomach dropped. "Katja, love, what's wrong? Why are you crying? What happened to you?"

Katja was trembling uncontrollably. "Tomorrow, we pack and go back to Germany. We can't stay here."

"Katja, what on Earth happened?"

Katja's hands shook as she unzipped her jacket, revealing a t-shirt splattered with blood. Carole let out a scream. "This blood…" Katja's voice, too, was shaking. "It's mine…"

Carole searched her partner's body, but she saw a wound nowhere. "What do you mean?"

"While I was on the street, a girl ran into me…she was running from something, but she crashed right into me…and just as she was regaining her balance, she suddenly got shot, out of nowhere. A single bullet straight through the heart. The blood's from her. She died right in front of me." Pause. "She looked exactly like me. Identical. It was like watching myself die…"

Carole's eyes widened. For a moment, she was unsure of what to say. "Identical? But, Katja, that's impossible…maybe she looked a bit like you, but…this is just your mind exaggerating things…there's no way…"

Katja reached into her bag in mute and pulled out a blood-splattered wallet. Frowning, Carole opened it—and her jaw dropped.

Staring back at her from a University of Oxford ID card was Katja's face. Except it wasn't hers—there was a scar at the corner of her mouth that Carole knew couldn't be Katja's. The name on the card read, "Konstantina Iovanasis".

Carole's hands shook as she attempted to close the wallet again. It was slippery with blood—Carole couldn't keep her grip on it. It slipped through her hands and tumbled to the floor. "What is this?" she choked out after a moment of shocked silence.

"I don't know." Katja wiped the tears from her eyes. "And then I came back here and the room was trashed…I don't know who it was that shot Konstantina Iovanasis, but we need to get out of here…I think they meant to kill me."

* * *

Downstairs, at the check-in, the receptionist was greeted by a familiar face. "Ms. Obigner…" His voice was cheerful, but there was an edge of confusion to it. "I didn't even see you leave!"

The woman favored him with a broad grin. "Oh, I come and go…I can blend into a crowd. I have that kind of face, I'm told, _ja?_" Before he could answer, she dropped a valet ticket on the desk. "I'd like you to hold on to this for me, please…make sure it's given to me next time I leave, _ja? _I'll change my hair, but you'll know me. No questions, and make sure nobody else—other than myself or my partner—sees."

He opened his mouth, ready to question her. But as he took the ticket, he felt something wadded up underneath it—several crisp twenty-pound notes. Immediately, all traces of protest melted off of his face. "As you wish, Ms. Obinger," he grinned. "I hope you enjoy your stay here."

She nodded with a smile and pulled out several more bills. "And I'm afraid the room is a bit of a mess…but this should cover the damages. Good evening to you." And with that, she walked off down the hall.

If the receptionist had followed her—as some part of him told him to—he would have seen her duck into a stairwell, don a blond wig and sunglasses, and make her way to a door marked "EMPLOYEES ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT". He would have seen her pull keys nicked from a maid's cart from her pocket, open the door, and slip through silently before dropping the keys in a laundry basket and navigating the housekeeping area until she reached a door marked "EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY – ALARM WILL SOUND". Then, she, knowing somehow that the alarm had been broken and management still hadn't gotten around to fixing it, would push through the door and make her way into the side-alley it opened into. If he had continued to follow her, he would have seen the man—a tall, dark-haired youth—who waited for her at the corner, heard him ask her a question in Spanish, seen her smile and nod. He may have even realized that the woman he'd spoken to was not, in fact, Katja Obinger at all—but someone who shared her face, her voice, a variation of Katja in an identical skin.

But he wasn't a curious man—he was a man who had just been given a tip far above any police reward he might get. So rather than follow her, he settled back in his chair and folded his hands over his chest, thinking of the things he could buy with this wonderful bonus.


	2. Chapter One

**_Monday Afternoon  
Wurzburg, Germany_**

**_In the Hallway of Jäger & Associates Private Security Firm_**

"I understand your concerns, Mr. Schrieber…" Matthias Jäger smiled reassuringly as he ushered the client, Dennis Schrieber, into the conference room, stopping briefly to flip a switch on a small device near the door. "But let me assure you, Ms. Obinger is our top investigator. Her reports are extremely thorough, and she is very covert in her research…there will be no evidence linking this back to you."

Hans Schrieber, a stout, graying man with a thick mustache, nodded nervously. "Yes, I understand…" He paused to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. "I'm sorry, I suppose…I've never done this before…I've never…you know…"

"Now, now." Jäger interrupted him. "There is no need to feel so nervous. In this world, in this economy, holding onto traditional values—honor, fairness, honesty—is rarely profitable. People want to get the most they can for their money, and you are far from the first to contract outside help behind the scenes. If anything, in contracting us, you are merely leveling the playing field—you're getting the chance to honestly compete with your less-noble corporate rivals. Now…" He closed the door behind him as the machine at the door began to emit a soft humming sound. "Shall we get started? Oh, don't worry about that thing," he added, seeing his client's eyes linger suspiciously on the device, "It's just a white noise machine…to ensure that, should anybody happen to be listening outside, they won't hear anything of what we say. A privacy measure."

Schrieber nodded nervously, dabbing his forehead with the napkin again. The conference room was small and bare—off-white walls and ceiling, a gray carpet, no windows or decorations, and no furnishings except for a small, oval-shaped table in the middle of the room, surrounded by six simply-designed chairs with faux-leather seats and metal frames. On the table, there sat two folders, a cell phone, and a binder. A woman sat in one of the chairs, flipping through the binder—a short, slender woman with her thick, dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail atop her head, hazel eyes, and an impatient look on her face.

"Now, it is usually not within our protocol to introduce the clients to the investigators…but since you are a new client, and by all means a most valuable one, we've made an exception for you." Jäger grinned, gesturing for the woman to stand. "Mr. Schrieber, this is Katja Obinger…she has been handling your case. She has compiled reports on both of the men you requested, as well as their respective businesses and families…I believe that those are her reports there, on the table?"

"You're late, Matthias." Katja fixed Jäger with a stern look. "I have a schedule to keep, I hope you won't be dragging this meeting out for long…"

"It won't take more than a couple of minutes." Jäger gestured for Katja and Schrieber both to sit. Katja fell into her seat with graceful ease; Schrieber sat more stiffly, his hands flat on the table, his posture hunched. "I just wanted to introduce Mr. Schrieber here to you, and allow you to present your reports to him…"

Katja pushed both folders towards Schrieber. "The report itself summarizes what I felt were my most important findings, as well as my conclusions from the research I conducted…all of the material I've gathered is attached, as well. I'd stay behind to explain, but I've got somewhere to be in one hour, and it's on the other side of town. I trust Mr. Jäger here will be more than capable of explaining the rest to you." She picked up her cell phone and her binder and piled them into her black tote bag, and before Jäger or Schrieber could protest, she'd swept from the room.

No sooner had she exited the building than her cellphone started to ring. Swearing quietly under her breath, she answered it. "_Ja?_"

"Come on, Katja, it's me. Try to sound a little happier to hear my voice! Otherwise, I might stop using it so kindly." It was her girlfriend, Carole Fleischer. Katja grinned.

"Sorry, Carole. I had to meet with the boss, I told him I was on a tight schedule and he still arrived a half-hour late…" She sighed. "Must be nice, being in charge, not having to answer to anybody."

"You can be just as 'in charge' as you want when we get home, Katja. I got a bottle of wine, a few classic romances on DVD, and a few candles already lit…I suppose you can figure out what I want to do with all of that, but I'll let you make the final call."

Katja's grin widened. "You know how to spoil me, Carole. I'll be home as soon as possible, but I have to meet someone across town, business-related…I'll get home right after, I promise!"

"Alright. I love you, get back soon!"

"I will. I love you, too, Carole. Bye."

Katja stowed her cell in her bag as she reached her moped in the parking garage beside the building. She fumbled for a moment, searching for her keys. Once she'd recovered them, she plopped her helmet onto her head and started the engine. Her informant was waiting at an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town, and she still had to deliver the reward she'd promised.

* * *

Arriving at the warehouse, she found her informant sitting on the steps, fiddling idly with a cigar. "Hello, Klaus," she greeted him, extending her hand. "I appreciate your help in this case, as well as the many before it where you have been of assistance…now, for the reward I promised…"

He smiled at her, revealing several missing teeth. He was a thin, haggard man, bald as an egg and dressed in ill-fitted clothes that were an inch from being rags, with track marks dappling his arms and knees. "Always a pleasure, Ms. O," he slurred as he accepted the envelope she handed him. "Don't go yet, lemme count it up, make sure it's all here…"

"Try counting when you sober up, Klaus. You know where to find me if any of it is missing." She waved dismissively and started to walk back to her moped.

"Oh, yea, Ms. O, I could swear I saw your sister today…"

Katja froze dead in her tracks. "I don't have any sisters or brothers. What are you talking about?"

"Uh? She looked just like you, though…she had blond hair, but otherwise, straight image, could'a been you if I didn't know better, you wouldn't walk around dressed like that…"

"I don't have any sisters, Klaus. You're drinking too much again." That was what she said to him, at the time. But as she rode home, she couldn't help but feel unnerved. Her _sister? _She didn't have any sisters—her parents had required en vitro fertilization to even have Katja, and they'd never had any other kids…had they? Had there been one before that had been given up for adoption, and Katja was never told? No, that was impossible—her mother had struggled with fertility issues her entire life, it was congenital, Katja would never be able to have children without significant medical intervention either. It was ridiculous. Klaus was drinking too much again. He was an alcoholic. You couldn't take an alcoholic's word on anything.

It was illogical to worry about what Klaus had said, and Katja knew it. So why did she still feel so distraught by his words?

* * *

"Welcome home, Katja!" Carole grinned and threw her arms around Katja, kissing her full on the lips.

Katja smiled, embracing Carole. "Good to be home, Carole. How was your day? Hopefully, your boss is brighter than mine…"

Carole wrinkled her nose. She was a petite blond with green eyes, a splatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks, and a crooked smile, which returned to her face after a momentary look of disgust. "Not in the least. He tried to make his own coffee today—an excuse to hit on the secretaries, all it was—and almost poured hand soap into his cup instead of cream. But he looked quite happy when I grabbed his arm to stop him!" She rolled her eyes. "He thinks I was helping him and had the nerve to ask me to dinner, to 'return the favor'…pah! I would've liked to see him drink that soap. But pouring a kitchen cleaner into good coffee like that is blasphemy! That's all I was thinking of. I told him that my mother was in town." She leaned back against the wall of the foyer, massaging her toes. Although one would not guess it looking at her in denim cutoffs, a tank top, bare feet, and her long hair hanging loose around her shoulders, she spent her working hours in a pencil skirt and blouse with pantyhose, heels, and her hair drawn into a tight bun. "I hate being this guy's secretary…I'd rather have work like yours. I mean, come on—you're a private eye, like James Bond or something! It's much more exciting!"

"Not really…it's mostly sitting at a computer, making phone calls, and talking to perverted old men, usually drunks…not that exciting." Katja removed the elastic that had been tethering her hair into a ponytail and hung her blazer up on a hook. "In fact, it's pretty similar to what you do. Just a little more creative freedom and shittier coffee." Sighing, she turned to Carole. "Please tell me you magically have a bubble bath waiting for us in the bathroom…I think you and I could both do with a bit of relaxation before we watch any movies."

Carole grinned, revealing a small smudge of red lipstick on her front tooth. "Ten steps ahead of you, Katja. I could tell by your voice on the phone that you'd need it just as badly as I would." She paused. "But first, sit down. I've got a surprise for you."

Katja sighed and flopped down on the living room couch. "Carole, you know I don't like surprises."

"You'll like this one." She beamed at Katja. "I was thinking, you and I both have a few days off, between Thursday and Monday...I was thinking, we drop everything here, go to London for a couple of days to...relax and have some romance with a change of scenery...so I got tickets for Wednesday evening. A nice hotel and everything. We can go to a spa, we can see the sights, we can...I don't know...do whatever we want!"

Katja stared blankly at her. "I don't like surprises, Carole...and if you'd waited two more days to spring this on me, I really would have been mad at you." Then, her face split into a broad grin. She jumped up and threw her arms around Carole. "This is perfect! You were right, we really need to get out of here for a few days...thank you so much for thinking of this. Now..." She giggled, pressing the tip of her nose to Carole's. "How about that bath?"

Carole pressed her tongue between her teeth. "It might've cooled down a bit..."

"We'll just have to make it warmer." Katja pulled Carole towards the bathroom as she spoke. "Come on, grab that wine too...work can wait. Let's make it a good night!"

* * *

_**Oxford, United Kingdom  
Thursday Morning  
**_

Konstantina Iovanasis awoke to the sound of her roommate yelling for her from the doorway. "Kana! Wake _up,_ you damn snail! Your boyfriend's in the living room and he won't leave until he sees you."

Kana rubbed her eyes and sat up groggily. "Tell him to come in here and stop pestering you, then," she growled, "I'd rather he bother me than you."

Mel rolled her eyes. "No need to be so rude about it!"

"You have a very loose definition of 'rude', Mel...that I say you're bothering me is rude, but that you calling me a 'damn snail' is just fine?"

"Whatever, _prick_. I'll tell him to come in here. You two pricks deserve each other."

"Leave us alone, Mel." That was the gruff, scratchy voice of Dave, Kana's boyfriend. "If you don't want to be here, then take your damn bike around town and prove that you've got somewhere better to be."

Mel shot one final dirty look at Kana and Dave before leaving.

Dave sighed and closed the door behind him. "Good morning, sunshine," he grinned, brushing a stray curl of dark brown hair out of Kana's face. "Glad you're finally awake." He paused and lowered his voice. "Your roommate has no manners whatsoever. Why won't you just move in with me, we can get away from her?"

Kana shook her head. "I told you how my parents are...it was enough to convince them to let me come to England to study politics, they've got their traditional attitudes, they'd never stand for me living with a man I'm not married to."

Dave rubbed his temples. "I guess I just have to understand, you'd tell them if you were to come and live with me?"

"I wouldn't go behind my parents' backs. They've been nothing but good to me. I have to be honest with them."

"Alright. Is it a Greek family thing?"

"It's a _good _family thing. We don't lie to each other." Kana brushed his cheek with her fingers. "Do you come from a lying family, Dave?"

"Well, if you put it like that..." Dave shifted uncomfortably, trailing off. But then he brightened up. "Well! I didn't come here to discuss family or bitch roommates...I came here to let you know, we've got reservations for dinner. A classy little Lebanese place in London, got great reviews and it's pretty popular, from what I've heard. You wouldn't believe what I had to go through to even get reservations." He kissed her on the cheek. "After you finish your classes today, come back here and put on a nice dress. We're going to dine out in style tonight."

Kana grinned at him. "Okay. It's a date." She leaned in and kissed him quickly on the lips. He leaned in to kiss her again, but she put up a hand to stop him. "No, no. I have to get ready for class, I overslept. We meet at your flat at five in the evening, yes?"

He nodded as he backed out the door. "As you wish. See you tonight, Kana. Let me know if you change your mind about moving into my flat, I can't take much more of Mel."

* * *

"This is the place." Dave tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "We can't park here, but give it a minute, we'll find a place."

Kana glanced out the window of the car. "Ha, you weren't making a joke when you said it's a classy place. I am maybe a little underdressed?"

He kissed her on the cheek. "You look great, Kana. Don't sweat it."

"Why would I sweat? It's cool outside."

Dave laughed. "You know, Kana, you make it easy to forget that English isn't your first language...until you say something like that."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. Here, let's go this way to park. I think I saw a lot a couple blocks this way..."

As they walked into the restaurant after parking the car, Dave felt his pocket and swore. "Dammit, Kana...I think I left my wallet in the car...just go on over and let them know we're here, alright? Reservation for 8pm, name 'McAllinger'. I'll be back in two minutes."

Kana nodded with a smile. "Alright. Be back quickly."

He planted a quick kiss on her cheek. "I will." And then he hurried off down the street.

Kana approached the host. "Reservation for 8pm, party of two, under the name 'Dave McAllinger.' Is there anywhere I can wait, while he goes to the car?"

The host nodded politely. "There's a few seats right over there. Allow me to get you some water, Mrs. Allinger. Do you have any coats to check?"

"Oh! No, I—well, I don't have a coat, and—it's Iovanasis, we're not married..."

"Oh. My mistake, then, I apologize, Ms. Iovanasis. I'll be right back with your water."

"Thank you."

As the host ambled off to get Kana some water, she allowed her mind to wander. He'd mistaken her for Dave's _wife._ She'd said to Dave earlier that her parents wouldn't allow her to live with someone she wasn't yet married to...but why wouldn't she marry him? Maybe he'd even brought her here to propose to her...her cheeks flushed at the thought. _We're of an appropriate age to marry, maybe even past it. My parents married when they were 24...I'm 27 and still unmarried. Why _wouldn't_ I marry him?__ We've been together for two years, ever since I first came to England..._She shook her head. _It's not my place to think about that. It's his place to think of it and to ask me, if he thinks it right. And it's simply my job to say yes or no._ She giggled. _Should I say yes if he asks?_

She didn't realize that she'd been sitting there for a long time, contemplating Dave's possible proposal, until the manager approached her, clearing his throat. "You've been there for 30 minutes, we'll have to give your table away if your boyfriend doesn't come back soon...I think perhaps you should call him?"

Kana frowned. It had been a half hour? It didn't feel that long at all...but why hadn't Dave returned? She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed Dave's number. There were ten rings, and then it went to voicemail. At that point, Kana began to worry. _Something's wrong._

She remembered where they'd parked. It occurred to her to go back to the car and make sure everything was okay. What if Dave had gotten an asthma attack while on his way to the car? What if he'd gotten mugged? There were all sorts of things that could have happened. She rose and walked quickly through the door, stopping briefly to apologize to the host for the trouble. _What if something happened to_ him? By the time she reached the parking lot, she was running.

Dave was slumped over the hood of the car. The windshield and pavement were splattered with blood, and there was a gaping hole in his back clearly made by a bullet. He was dead.

Kana screamed as she stumbled over to his body. "No...no..." She pulled out her phone, intending to call for help—and at that moment, she slipped and tumbled to the ground. A bullet whizzed past her, shattering the windshield of a nearby car.

That was when her adrenaline kicked in. There was no time to scream, no time to call anyone—_someone was trying to kill her._ She had to get out of there, fast. She lunged towards the street and broke into a run.

At that moment, she crashed headlong into—_herself?_

The face, the hair, the eyes...it was all her. But it wasn't, it couldn't be?

_Is this what it means for your life to flash before your eyes?_ Kana's eyes widened as she faced her identical. _No—this is someone else, someone who looks just like me...how?_

The woman she'd just crashed into seemed equally startled by her appearance. "_Schise..._" she whispered.

"_Skata..._" Kana gasped.

It was the last word she ever said.


	3. Chapter Two

**_Thursday Night_**

**_London, United Kingdom_**

_This elevator is too small for such wild energy. _Although Carole could hardly blame Katja for being so frantic, the energy coming off of her—panicked, feral, uncontrollable—was too much for Carole. It was making her uncomfortable.

It had been less than an hour since Carole had arrived back at their hotel room and found Katja crying on the balcony, her hair dyed maroon and chopped off and her shirt soaked with blood. In that time, they'd packed their bags, frantically throwing everything together in a desperate rush to escape before Katja's attempted assassin realized that Katja was alive, that he'd killed the wrong girl. Carole had convinced Katja to pause to blow-dry her hair, so that it wouldn't look like quite so much of a quick makeover. And then, they were out, determined to check out before anything else happened.

There was a soft _beep _as the elevator door slid open at the ground floor. As Katja and Carole approached the desk, the receptionist looked up at them and smiled. "Ms. Obinger! You weren't kidding about your hair."

Katja furrowed her brow. "What are you talking about?"

His smile faltered for a moment. "Your hair? About an hour ago, you told me you were going to change your hair? Well, never mind that. How can I help you?"

"We're going to check out early, you can take the damage to the room from my card-"

"You already gave over £2000 for the damages, I doubt it could be much worse, but if there's any excess I'll bill your card for it." He nodded. "I'll take care of the rest. Here's your valet ticket, like you requested."

Katja frowned. "Valet ticket? But..."

He shoved the ticket into her hand. "Valet is right outside, he'll get the car for you. I hope you enjoyed your stay, Ms. Obinger. I'll just need your signature here..."

Katja signed, trying to sort through the confused and frightened thoughts rattling in her brain. Valet ticket? She hadn't come by car. And what was he talking about, claiming she'd requested the ticket? She thought to question further, but at that moment, the front desk phone rang. He smiled and nodded to them. "That'll be all, you're free to go. I'm sorry, I must take this call." Katja wanted to question further, but the phone was in his hand, and she didn't want to wait until he was done talking, not with what she'd just seen.

She checked her watch. It was 9:46pm. They had to move.

As they exited the hotel, Carole nudged Katja. "Look at the ticket...there is something written on it. On the back."

Katja glanced at it. Scrawled onto the back, one word in smudged pencil:

_LEAVE_

Katja's eyes widened. "What is this?"

Carole shook her head. "You're the private eye. You tell me."

"I think it could be one of two things." Katja bit her lip. "A warning, or...a trap."

"Should we take the car? Could it be rigged?"

"We check it before we get in. I'll do that." She lowered her shoulder, letting her duffel bag drag along the ground.

Carole frowned. "What are you doing? You'll ruin the bag."

"Take the ticket to the valet. Tell him that I'm struggling a bit with the bag, but I'm nearby."

Carole's eyes widened. "You don't mean you're going to use the valet to check to see if the trunk is rigged?"

"I don't like surprises, so I'll check before I touch anything myself." Katja frowned. "The only other rigging could be a time device, but that wouldn't make sense. Or it could be tracked…we can pawn off the car if we need to. Unless you've got a better way to check if there are traps on the car?"

Carole's shoulders sagged. "I…I don't. Hang on." She sped up, rushing towards the valet. From afar, Katja could see, but not hear, their interaction. The valet nodded and glanced back at Katja before hurrying off to retrieve the car. Shortly thereafter, he returned to the front in the driver's seat of a well-worn grey compact car. He handed the keys to Carole before stepping inside to assist Katja with the bag. Katja fabricated a warm smile of gratitude as he hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and carried it to the car. She held her breath as he moved to open the trunk, she saw Carole recoiling slightly in the same manner…

The trunk clicked open. The hinges screeched slightly, but otherwise, the trunk bore no unpleasant surprises. He tossed the duffel into the trunk and slammed it shut again, smiling and nodding "good night" to Katja as she handed him a few pounds as a tip.

Carole nervously climbed into the passenger seat as Katja stepped into the driver's. "What's your assessment so far? Trap, or warning?"

Katja shook her head. "I'm still not sure." Then, she noticed the GPS device had turned on with the car—and had a destination already pinned in. She frowned. "What is this?" She turned to Carole, and realized Carole wasn't paying attention—she'd turned her attention to the contents of the glove compartment: a wad of money, a pair of sunglasses, a fairly basic phone wrapped in a blue case, a folder, and a tape recorder. Taped to the phone was a note:

_We didn't plan to contact you so soon, Katja, but today's events have forced a change of plans. _

_We will contact you on this phone, and only us. Show it to nobody else, let nobody handle it, and give nobody this number._

_Listen to your voicemails. They will tell you where to find us._

Carole frowned. "The folder and the tape recorder are both empty. Just the phone, it looks like. Start driving. I'll listen to it. I'll tell you what it says. Just start driving south, we'll figure out the rest as we go." Katja nodded and turned the key in the ignition, and had made it not two blocks when Carole set the phone down, sighing. "What is this? It's like a riddle! I don't get it!"

Katja frowned. "Bah. Tell it to me, try me out."

Carole nodded. "I think it was…'My sweet flesh bleeds, if cut, but my heart is made of stone. What am I?"

For a moment, Katja was silent. Then, she spoke: "Stone fruits."

"What?"

"Stone fruits. Cherries, plums, peaches, apricots…sweet flesh, hearts of stone. It's the answer to the riddle. Stone fruits. But what does that have to do with anything? What is the location on the GPS?"

Carole glanced at it. Then, a look of dawning comprehension spread across her face. "It's a marketplace. Do you think the person who left the car for us is telling us to come find them at a stone fruit vendor at a marketplace?"

"If she is, she's being very vague about it. But…here's what I don't understand…" She bit her nail. "The receptionist thought she was me. So she looked just like me, then. Just like Konstantina Iovanasis, too. Do you think he was just…drunk or confused? Or…" Then she broke off. "Klaus said so, too."

"What?"

"Klaus! A drunk, but knows good people, people who can find all sorts of secrets. He sometimes does work for me. He said that he saw my sister a few days ago. I dismissed it then, I said he was just drunk, but…he said he saw my sister, that she had blond hair and dressed terribly but that otherwise…she…looked exactly like me." Katja's face was pale. "It wasn't Konstantina, it can't have been, she didn't have blond hair."

"Could've been wearing a wig," Carole suggested.

"_Ja, ja! _But that still doesn't answer _why!_" Katja slammed her fist on the steering wheel, stopping at a red light. "Why would she come looking for me in Germany, and then come back here and get shot all of a sudden? And what if it wasn't her at all, she looked just as shocked to see me as I was to see her! How many women that look _exactly like me_ are there?" Katja sighed, sitting back. "I get the feeling that there's danger, no matter which way I look…but…what is at the bottom of all of this? It wasn't Konstantina Iovanasis who gave us this car. But I'm betting it was the same person who trashed our room…someone else who looks like me…but why would anyone…" Katja trailed off.

Carole seized her arm. "I know what you're thinking, Katja. But even if this…person…does know what this is all about…it's not worth following her lead. It's too dangerous! Let's go back to Germany, now. Let's get out of here while we still can."

"She knows what this is all about, though…"

"And we don't need to!" Carole's eyes were frantic. "We don't need to get involved in this! It isn't our fight. Let's go home. Please, Katja! I'm begging you!"

Katja was silent. Then, she drew something from her pocket—Konstantina Iovanasis's ID card. "I don't know, Carole…" Her voice was quiet. "It sure looks like my fight, doesn't it?"

Carole shook her head quickly. "This is too dangerous. We go home, now!"

"I'll leave you at the train station, if that's what you want, Carole." Katja's eyes were dark. "If you don't want this to be your fight, it doesn't have to be. But I've already made up my mind."

For a moment, both were silent, staring intently at each other. Then, Carole sighed, looking away. "Fine. I go with you, Katja." She paused. "I can't leave you alone. Not now."

"Good." The light flickered to green again. Katja tapped the steering wheel and pressed down on the gas pedal. "Then let's go. The market will be closed by now, but we can scope it out. It'll take us a couple hours to drive there. Are you ready?"

Carole grimaced. "No. But what difference does it make? Let's go."

* * *

They arrived at the marketplace to find it empty. All of the stalls were closed, shutters pulled down over the empty storefronts. Katja paused for a moment before parking the car in the deserted parking lot and stepping out into the cool night air.

Carole stepped out, shuddering in the breeze. "What do you propose we do, hm? While it's closed?"

"Well, right now, we look around. We find a store that would sell stone fruits. We figure it out from there." Katja tossed Carole something small and metallic—a whistle. "We cover more ground if we split up. Blow this if anything goes wrong, _ja?_"

"Alright." Carole nodded reluctantly. "And if I find the store?"

"Blow the whistle. I have a whistle, too. If one of us signals, the other comes right away."

Carole nodded and set off into the deserted marketplace.

As Katja wandered the silent aisles, closely examining each storefront, her mind began to wander. There were two people, at least, who shared her face. One of them—Konstantina Iovanasis—was dead. The other had blond hair and had already tracked Katja to her home. And that was _if _the girl Klaus had seen and the girl who'd followed Katja to the hotel were the same girl. If not…there was a fourth. How was this possible? How many were there?

Katja caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a darkened window. "Get it together, Katja," she instructed herself quietly. "You're the one who wanted to come looking for the truth…" At that moment, she broke off.

Not two doors down, a storefront was lit. A sign hanging over the door read, _MacMillan & Steiner's Artisan Stone Fruit Preserves. _

Katja's stomach clenched. _I've found it._ She raised the whistle to her lips and let out a shrill blast.

No sooner had the whistle dropped from her lips than a pair of hands grabbed her from behind, shoving her face-first against the wall. Katja gasped and tried to fight, but the person pinning her to the wall was too powerful. She opened her mouth to scream—

A hand slapped over her mouth. "Save that scream for someone who actually wants to harm you. I just need to confirm your identity before I let you go. My sweet flesh bleeds, if cut, but my heart is stone. What am I?" The voice was deep and male.

"Wha—obviously I figured that out, or I wouldn't be here! Let me go, my partner will be here soon—"

"And as long as you cooperate, we can guarantee her safety, and yours. Answer me. What am I?"

Katja grimaced. "A stone fruit."

"And what is your name?"

"Is this another riddle? Let me go!" Katja struggled, to no avail.

"Carlton. Let go of her, she's shown no aggression, and she's proven who she is already. If we treat her with hostility, she won't want to work with us, and we need her cooperation." Another voice—male, but more youthful, less harsh—drifted from the doorway of the illuminated storefront. Through her blurry vision, Katja was able to make out a tall, well-muscled young man with dark, messy hair and beige skin stepping towards them.

Carlton released his death grip on Katja, but didn't relax his muscles at all—he was still standing by with his muscles tensed, ready to spring at Katja again should she try anything. Stepping back, Katja was able to see that Carlton was also tall, but bulkier and more dark-skinned than the younger man approaching them. Katja looked back and forth between them. Carlton was blocking her escape on one side, but if she tried the other way, maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to get past the younger man…but who, or what, was inside of that store? She had no way to know, and she'd have to get past the store in order to truly escape…

And then, what of Carole, who was probably on her way? Would they hurt her? Katja was adept at defending herself, but Carole, not so much. At best, Carole might be able to escape one of these men…but two?

"I apologize for the rude greeting…we have to be very careful, here. But make no mistake, Katja, we're here to help you." The dark-haired youth was approaching with his hand extended. "We'd best go inside, before we continue the conversation. Much warmer in there than out here, and much less exposed, too."

Katja frowned. "How did you know my name? And…who are you?"

"We'll explain it inside, Katja. My sister will be able to explain it better than I will. She's waiting inside, along with a couple of other friends. Please, follow me."

Katja eyed his outstretched hand suspiciously. "Carole—"

"Carlton will escort her inside. She will not be harmed, as long as you cooperate." His eyes twinkled with a smile. "Don't look at me like that. We're on your side. But, for your safety, and Carole's, we must explain inside. The walls have eyes out here, you know."

Glancing back and forth between the two men, Katja assessed that her best shot was to do as he said—at least, for the moment. If she decided she had to escape, then their guards would be looser if acted cooperative than if she resisted. "Okay." She shook the offered hand and allowed the man to lead her inside.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Katja looked more closely at him. "Can you tell me your name, now?"

"Yeah, it's Sam. Samuel Delgado, really, but…call me Sam."

"How old are you, Sam?"

"Too young for you, Katja, even if you weren't spoken for." He chuckled. "I just turned nineteen, actually."

Katja blushed. "I wasn't—I mean, I am—"

"I know you weren't, I was joking."

"I know. I mean, I was just asking because…you seemed pretty young, like you should be in university now, not…"

"Someone else my age may be, but…I guess, like you, I was born into this fight, walking away was never an option." He nodded. "And you're twenty-seven, now, soon to be twenty-eight."

"How did you know?"

He spun a loop of keys around his index finger. "Same age as my sister." Then, he turned his attention to rifling through the keys, looking for the one that unlocked the door to the back of the store.

Katja regarded him curiously. She shouldn't feel at ease, right now—these men, these strangers, were pretty much kidnapping her. But something about Sam comforted her, somehow…something about him felt familiar, safe. _Why do I feel like I know this man? Like I've known him forever?_

As he inserted the key into the lock, he paused. "You're good at riddles, Katja. That riddle in the car, my sister delivered it, but I made it up."

"Is that a compliment? That I'm good at riddles?"

"It's whatever you want it to be. But here. I've got one more for you, and I want you to remember it…" He paused, slowly turning the key. "Just one, a few, no family too. Who am I?"

She frowned. "What?"

He scoffed. "Alright, it sounded better in Spanish. But just…think on it. It might help you to process some of this…"

The key clicked in the lock. The door swung open.

The back room was small and bright. A computer sat in one corner. Notes were scattered over a bulletin board on the rear wall. Flyers littered the small table in the middle, announcing new products, upcoming sales, special events…in any other time, the room was probably a quiet center for business, and nothing more.

But at this moment, atop the scattered flyers, lay two pistols and a hunting rifle. The computer had been converted into a surveillance center. And taped over the bulletin board was a projector screen. Two people sat at the table—one man and one woman. Another woman stood beside the table, her back to the door, working over a projector that was sitting on a stool.

Sam cleared his throat. "She's here."

The woman at the projector stood up straight and turned around slowly. She was short, with beige skin and thick, wavy dark hair, pulled into a sloppy ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her figure was wiry and muscular, and her right arm was covered by an intricate sleeve tattoo.

As she faced them, Katja's voice caught in her throat. When she finally managed to speak, her first words were to Sam—"Your sister?"

Sam nodded. "Also, in a manner of speaking, your sister."

The woman's face was more than just familiar. It was the face Katja had seen in the mirror every day for her entire life. It was the face Katja had witnessed the life flooding from earlier that day, when Konstantina Iovanasis was shot. It was Katja's own face, but not hers at all—for this woman was clearly another individual altogether.

"Welcome, Katja." It was Katja's smile that spread across the woman's face as she approached, extending a hand in greeting. "My name is Gloria…I suppose you'll recognize my voice, from the messages. I knew this day would come for years, but I never thought it would come so soon. Unforeseen circumstances, I suppose."

Katja was unable to bring herself to shake Gloria's hand. In fact, she was unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything other than stand there, staring at Gloria in a state of shock. "_Schise…_" she whispered at last, staggering to catch herself against the wall. "What are we?" She'd intended to ask something else, _Who are you?_ But the question came out closer to her real sentiments than she'd intended.

"To put it simply, clones." Gloria said in a matter-of-fact voice. "Now, we cannot know yet if Konstantina's death was a personal matter, or connected to all of us…but either way, I didn't want to take any chances on you being targeted next. Please sit down. We've got much to discuss."


	4. Chapter Three

**_Friday Morning  
_****_Paris, France_**

It was a feeling that Danielle Fournier knew very well, but still utterly despised: the feeling of a journalist who couldn't find a good story to cover.

Other journalists may have given up on honest reporting and segued into this singer has lowered the bar, or this actress has lowered her standards, or this politician has lowered his pants…but Danielle prided herself on not being one of them—on being dedicated to finding a lead, a worthy lead, and following that "worthy lead" from beginning to end, not letting any bribes, threats, or other forms of dissuasion faze her.

Sleep, the night before, had been restless. As such, her morning cup of coffee felt less like routine and more like necessity. She smiled faintly as she approached the barista at the corner coffee shop. "_Bonjour, un café, s'il vous plait," _she half-mumbled as she fished in her pocket for a couple of Euros. The barista smiled as she handed the coffee to Danielle. Danielle nodded gratefully. "_Merci beaucoup._" She took the first sip immediately, not stopping for cream or sugar. The bitter, burning taste surged over her tongue, bringing with it that sense of alertness that she so needed. Exiting the coffee shop, she turned right and made tracks for her flat. There was research to do, and her coffee would be a good companion.

The first thing she noticed upon turning on her computer was that she'd received three e-mails. One was from her cousin—a wedding announcement. One was a bank statement. And one, from a sender "Eagle", had the subject header: "A story worth writing."

Danielle's usual wariness of e-mails from unknown senders was overwhelmed by her curiosity. Checking quickly to make sure her computer's virus guards were active, she opened the e-mail.

_Last night, at approximately 8:15pm GST, a young couple was shot to death in a parking lot in eastern London, each killed by a single bullet fired from a long-range. The victims were 27-year-old University of Oxford scholar Konstantina Iovanasis and 29-year-old financial consultant David McAllinger. _

_Attached, please find security footage from the parking lot where the victims were killed, as well as photos of the victims. Additionally attached, a few leads on each victim. Your story begins here. We are waiting._

Danielle frowned. Was this a _prank?_ She clicked on the first attachment—labeled "license1"—to open it.

She wasn't sure what she expected. A clown's laughing face? An anti-virus software alert? A sudden computer crash? But nothing could prepare her for what actually popped up.

It was a driver's license with a picture of her.

She gasped. Was someone _threatening _her? If they were, this was an odd way to go about it, constructing a fake narrative with fake names and a fake video! They could have at least used her name, if they meant to threaten her.

Then she looked at the picture more closely. And she saw it—although the girl in the picture was almost completely identical to Danielle, it wasn't her. Danielle didn't have a scar like that, one that made it look as though half of her face was always smiling. Danielle's hair was shorter, too, and more curly. Although they were near-identical, the girl in the picture wasn't her.

Squinting, she examined the girl's driver's license. The name on it was, indeed, Kosntantina Iovanasis. City of birth, Athens, Greece. Date of birth, one week after Danielle's own.

_What is this?_

She opened the second file. Another license, this one a man with messy, sandy-brown hair, brown eyes, and a prominent jaw. David McAllinger. City of birth, London, United Kingdom. Date of birth, March 18, 1982.

Then she opened the third file—the security footage. It began around 7:45pm. A car pulled into the lot and two people got out—zooming in, she saw it was the two victims. As she watched, she noticed how the man, David McAllinger, got out of the car, then ran around to the other side to open the door for Konstantina Iovanasis and hold out his hand to her. _They were dating, probably on their way to a dinner. _Danielle mused. _They had no idea. _The two left the parking lot and disappeared down the street. Danielle scrubbed quickly through a few minutes of footage until she noticed something odd at 7:50.

A motorcycle pulled into the lot. The rider—a small figure wearing a hooded coat—stepped off of the motorcycle and looked around for a moment before hopping back onto the motorcycle and driving into an alley. Danielle frowned and rewound a few seconds. Yes, there it was—for just a moment, a vague outline of the hooded figure's face was visible under the hood—_she also looks just like me._ This thought occurred to Danielle, but she dismissed it. _My mind is playing tricks on me. I can't see her face clearly—I don't even know for sure it's a woman. I'm just exaggerating this in my mind, because I'm shocked by this overall situation. Yes. _Although she hadn't fully convinced herself, it was enough for her to let it go.

At 7:52 and 7:53, two more cars pulled into the lot. One, three women exited—probably on their way to a hen party nearby. The other was parked half-out of the security camera's sight, so Danielle was unable to see who—if anyone—exited that car.

At 7:55, David McAllinger returned to the parking lot, moving at a jog. He opened the driver's-side door to his car and shuffled inside of the car for a moment before emerging again. He slammed the door shut, stuffing something into his pocket, and then turned with his key in hand.

At that moment, he collapsed over the hood of his car, blood splattering—a dark stain on the black-and-white footage—over the windshield. Danielle's hand sprung to her throat at that moment. She stood and stumbled over to the kitchen sink, gasping, trying to catch her breath. _Oh my god. This is real…_Her fingertips traveled from her throat to her lips. _Then the other one, the girl, who looks like me…_She shook her head. _I have to keep watching. _

Returning to her computer, she rewound the video to a few seconds after David was killed. For quite a while, the lot was silent and still. She scrubbed through the video until there was a change.

At 8:13pm, Konstantina Iovanasis stepped back through the gates of the parking lot. She stopped dead in her tracks for a moment, taking in the scene before her—her boyfriend, dead, draped over the hood of their car. As Danielle watched, her pulse racing, Konstantina Iovanasis ran towards him, drawing a cell phone from her pocket—and tripped. As she stumbled and fell, the windshield of a nearby car shattered—another bullet, narrowly missing its target. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then, Konstantina bolted towards the gate at full sprint, keeping her head low. But just as she reached the gate, she crashed into—

_Herself?_

It was another woman who looked exactly like Danielle. Another identical face. For a moment, both were still. Then, Konstantina slumped forward onto her lookalike, blood spurting from a wound in her chest. The lookalike stumbled back, frightened—and ran.

And then the video ended. The screen went dark.

Danielle hadn't noticed, until then, that her knuckles were white on the edge of her desk, or that her breathing was quick and ragged, or that her pulse was racing like she'd never felt it before.

_What is this? What is this? _

The last file hadn't been opened yet. But Danielle couldn't bring herself to click on it, afraid of what she might find. Instead, she picked up the phone and dialed with shaky fingers.

A sleepy voice answered. "Oi, Dani, I told you, don't bother me before noon on Fridays…"

"Charlene, please come over, now." Danielle's voice shook as she spoke. "I need you to take a look at something for me."

* * *

**_Ten Hours Prior  
_****_London, United Kingdom  
_****_In the office of MacMillan & Steiner Artisan Stone Fruit Preserves_**

"I know this must be a lot for you to handle, Katja." Gloria's eyes were sympathetic. "I've never really done this before, explaining all of this to someone…but you must listen to me…we are here to help. We are not your enemies." She paused. "It might take some time to sink in…"

"No." Katja was shocked by her own abruptness. "This…after what happened earlier today, I don't think you could shock me much more if you shoved a Tazer down my throat." The pitch and volume of her voice were rising rapidly. But somehow, Katja was unable to stop it. It was like her body had disconnected from her, and she was drifting away while her own voice sputtered on, commandeered by a stranger. "So let me guess, you're the original? Or was Konstantina the original, and I'm just some bad photocopy of her? Or am I the original, and they meant to kill me, but they killed her by mistake?" She felt a touch on her arm—Sam—and smacked it away. "How many of us are there? How many more times am I going to have to watch myself die? What is this? _What the fuck is this, answer me, don't just stand there staring at me!_"

Indeed, Gloria hadn't moved a millimeter. Her eyes were soft, but her expression was stoic—a human soul hiding behind an iron façade. _That isn't a soul I'm seeing. It's what I want to see, my own soul reflecting back at me. That's my face. It isn't hers. She has no right to it, no right!_

"Who made us? Are you going to tell me now that my parents were part of some big government conspiracy, and all of it—all of what we went through, what they did—all of it was lies? An act? _Come on and say something, you—_ow!" Katja had been so swept up in her emotions, so intently focused on Gloria, that she hadn't even seen the man who'd been seated at the table rising, moving towards her—hadn't even seen the syringe in his hand until it had already been jabbed into her thigh.

The world around her spun, her vision growing blurry. She could hear a distant, echoed impression of Gloria's voice—"Don't worry, Katja. It's not a harmful dose. It's to help you relax…otherwise you might hurt yourself, or one of us. We can't have that. I didn't want it to come to this, but I acknowledged it was possible you'd react like this…we were prepared to take whatever measures necessary to protect you, and all of us. I'm sorry."

Her muscles collapsed. She slumped against the wall, a pair of arms reached out of nowhere—somewhere—to catch her—_Sam? Is that you? Or is it Carlton? Or someone else…_

_Be careful, Konstantina, they're trying to kill me, I don't know who, but they thought you were me…I'm sorry…_

_Don't let them take us, they might be after all of us…_

_Us?_

_When did I become us?_

* * *

Sam frowned as he lifted Katja. "She's a lightweight. I'd guessed that, being clones, you two would feel about the same, to carry…but she probably weighs about half what you do, Gloria…"

Gloria sighed, pressing her fingertips to her eyelids. "You're more than familiar with the nature-nurture question, Sam…I guess that's just one way that you can see, nurture plays a significant role in development. Katja and I may be genetically identical, but we've lived differently enough, it's physically displayed." Indeed, even superficially, there were many differences between Gloria and Katja. Katja's figure was skinny and slight, while Gloria's was a solid mass of tight muscles and sinew. Gloria's skin was more darkened by the sun, and Katja's face was smoother, less weathered, than Gloria's. And while Gloria's hair—dark brown, but for a few blond streaks that she'd bleached herself—fell in natural disarray, it was clear that Katja's hair had seen much more maintenance over her life—even before she'd dyed it, using the bottle that Gloria had left in the room, she'd used various treatments to keep her hair soft, straight, smooth, and shiny.

A smile flickered across Sam's face. "It's a close match, but nurture wins this time." He craned his neck to look at David MacMillan, who was busy disposing of the needle that he'd used to inject Katja with the sedative. "I'm going to take her to the room down the hall…I know you'd prefer to keep her in restraints, but honestly, how would that help? She'd just wake up terrified. Even less likely to trust us."

It was David's wife, Valerie, who replied. "And what, exactly, do you suggest we do instead? She runs out of here and we're done for. And, quite possibly, so is she!"

"We find her partner." Gloria tapped a few keys on the computer, pulling up a surveillance video—just a block away from the storefront, a young woman with blond hair wearing a bulky faux-fur jacket was approaching. "I believe her name is Carole Fleischer. We should be able to reason with her. If Katja wakes up in the room and Carole is there with her, we've got a chance to actually get through to her, and not by force." She shot a heated glance at Valerie. "But if it makes you feel better, we keep the room under full audio-video surveillance, and we keep the door locked. Have Carlton gate up the marketplace, too….we don't need anyone else finding their way around here. No need to scare her anymore than your heavy-handed tactics already have."

Valerie stared back with equal intensity. "You don't need to use that tone with me, Gloria. Even if we'd gone with your idea—and let you go out to meet her—how could we be sure she wouldn't just turn and run? We had to be secure with this. We only did what was best. I am not the enemy here."

"I _know_ that you're not 'the enemy'. But, you have to remember…" Gloria crossed the room to stand next to her brother, who was stationary by the door, Katja's unconscious body draped over his arms. "Neither is Katja. And although I know that you'll ensure her compliance, one way or another, I'd rather she chose to work with us, rather than be forced into it. I hate seeing things that are forced. I want it to be her choice, and we're not off to a good start. Now, if you don't mind, we'll be taking her down to our old room. Don't deny that there's surveillance equipment in there—I figured out about the camera in the alarm clock and the microphone in the base of the lamp about two weeks after we were brought here. And I know about the one-way mirror on the vanity, too."

David's nostrils flared. "Gloria, don't start with that. We put that stuff there to keep you and Sam _safe. _We had to _protect you._"

"But you couldn't protect our mother, could you?" Gloria's eyes were flashing angrily.

Sam cleared his throat loudly, stepping between Gloria and the MacMillans. "Please, all of you…just stop. Gloria, you said it yourself…we aren't enemies here. Ma told them to keep us safe—she _died_ so that we could live! You may not agree with how they went about things, but they were only doing what they had to…and they did as Ma asked, they kept us safe, no matter what it cost them. And Val, Dave, I agree with my sister on this one. If she wakes up in restraints, she'll panic, and then she'll never trust us. We'll hold her here one way or another, but it's better if she's here on her own will, and she trusts us. This is bigger than any of us. And Gloria's right—we don't need her compliance, we need her _cooperation._" He paused. "You can force her to stay here, but you can't force her to help us. And we need her right now." Without waiting for any of them to respond, he turned and carried Katja across the room, to a door nested on the far wall, and pushed the door open with his shoulder. He knew without even looking that his older sister was right behind him.

There they stood—it was their old bedroom, a room that had served as a prison cell for both of them for several weeks when they'd first come to live with the MacMillans. There were two single beds, each with a simple wooden frame, a blue comforter, and two pillows. A wooden vanity sat against the far wall, and to the right of the door, a set of drawers with a simple lamp and a digital alarm clock/radio seated on it. For a moment, Sam froze as he entered the room. He heard Gloria sucking her breath in through her teeth behind him, and he knew that she was experiencing the same unpleasant flood of memories as they stepped into the room.

Within a few seconds, he was able to shake it off. He forced his body to move, inch by inch, towards one of the beds—the one that had been his, when they were young—and started to lay Katja down on it.

"Wait." Gloria stepped quickly up next to him, pulling the blanket back. Together, they laid Katja down in the bed, removed her boots and jacket, and tucked her in. Once she was tucked in, the two settled, side-by-side, on the other bed—the one which had formerly belonged to Gloria.

Gloria glanced at the eggshell-colored wall beside the bed. "_Repintaron,_" She murmured, bristling with discomfort. _They repainted._

Sam raised his eyebrows. "¿_Que?_" And then, glancing at the wall. "Oh…"

Once, the wall had borne a collection of small, barely-visible notches—tally marks, carved with a nail file, as Gloria had counted the number of days they'd been left in the room, not knowing what had happened or why they were there. Sam, only 8 years old at the time, hadn't understood why Gloria was so upset. He didn't have to do any chores or go to school, and as far as he knew, their mother was just on the other side of that door. He hadn't know, then, what Gloria had seen, what she knew.

He put his arm around her shoulder. "That's why you didn't want to go along with putting Katja in restraints? You didn't want her to feel trapped, like we were?"

"Not just that." Gloria bristled. "I met one before. One of us. She didn't choose to play the part of the clone, it was forced on her…and when I think of her…who…_what…_she turned into…" Gloria shuddered.

Sam shrugged. "Well, we didn't really choose either."

"You didn't, but I did." Gloria leaned her head against her brother's shoulder as she spoke. "Ma gave me a choice. She couldn't give you a choice, you were too young…but I chose to take this on. She gave me the choice to leave." She paused. "At first, I thought about leaving, but I couldn't leave you behind. I just realized, when I was in the hospital…when you're alone, all you think about is dying…but when there's two of you, when you're not alone, you don't think about dying…you think about surviving."

"Funny, you and I've survived for a while like this." Sam smiled grimly. "But we've never really lived, yes? Never gotten to…I don't know, like Katja said, she said when she saw me, why wasn't I in university or something, out making friends or—or falling in love or making something of myself, why I was in this…I mean, she's gotten a chance to live. We've just…survived."

"But we've never had to be alone."

Sam bit his lip and was silent for a moment. Then, he spoke: "Why did you lie to Katja?"

"About what?"

"About the Iovanasis girl's death. I thought you said that you were pretty sure it wasn't personal—it was all of you. Why did you tell Katja that you weren't sure?"

"Because…I don't have any proof yet. It's my strong suspicion that this was an assassination based on our…_biology…_and that Konstantina was just unlucky to be the first target. But I don't know who's behind it, and I don't have any proof that it isn't personal. But…" She shook her head as she spoke. "It's too much for a personal affair. If she'd been knifed in an alleyway, I might call it personal, or random. But this was a professional hit—sniper rifle from the warehouse across the lot. And I've looked into her background—neither she nor her family nor her associates had any connections that would put them in a professional's crosshairs. The only person who had any connection to anything big enough for that was McAllinger. And his only connection was…" Gloria paused, fiddling with the ends of her hair. "…that he was monitoring Konstantina for the DYAD group. Either way, it all comes back to this…the only reason the two of them would be targeted in such a manner, comes back to Konstantina as a clone." She tapped the arch of her nose with two fingers. "But, again, I have no proof. And we don't know who is behind it, either. That's why we need Katja's investigative skills…she can help us figure out who's behind this, and why they're choosing to make their move now. I can gather information, but piecing it together, smoking out a suspect, figuring out how to move out…I feel Katja may be better suited for that aspect of the investigation. We need her to help us, not be afraid of us…we're not the ones she needs to be protected from."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. Then, his face brightened. "Hey, I came up with a new riddle."

Gloria smiled. "Let's hear it."

"Just one, I'm a few. No family, too. Who am I?"

"I give up."

"Clones." Sam pressed his index finger to his lips. "You said that you needed some sort of a passcode, to make sure that you were talking to someone in your network…what do you think of that? A riddle? And one that only you lot will know the answer to…"

Gloria furrowed her brow. "I'll consider it. See if I can come up with anything better. Someone else might figure that one out." She paused, flattening a wrinkle in the blanket. "Now we just wait to hear from Carlton, I guess. About Katja's girlfriend."

"I should probably go out there, Carlton just about scared Katja senseless, it might be better if I made the approach this time…"

"No, let me do it this time." Gloria stood up. "I'll go out there. She's more likely to listen to a familiar face. Well, somewhat familiar…"

Sam laughed. "Carlton and I'll just be backup, in case she's less curious than her partner."

"Sure. But don't jump in unless either she bolts, or I signal. Clear?"

"Crystal clear, ma'am."

"Don't 'ma'am' me, you rascal." Gloria poked Sam's shoulder lightly. "I'm your older sister, not your grandmother. Save that talk for if I make it to eighty."

* * *

As Carole approached the lit storefront, a flicker of movement in the shadows caught her eye. "Who's there?" Her voice trembled as she shouted into the darkness. "I'm warning you, I'm armed!"

She was met with a soft laugh. "No, you're not. But don't worry. You don't need to be. I won't hurt you." And slowly, the voice's owner stepped forth from the shadows.

It was Katja.

Carole laughed. "Damn, Katja! Don't scare me like that! You sounded all weird there. Is this your idea of a—"

Then she broke off. The woman standing in front of her wasn't Katja.

Their looks were very similar, almost identical, to be sure. But it wasn't Katja. Katja didn't have messy hair like that—in fact, she'd cut almost all of her hair off earlier that evening, so the mere fact that there was a length of messy brown hair cascading from under the woman's knitted beanie was cue enough that it was someone else. Not to mention, Katja didn't have a hat like that, or a bulky leather jacket like that, or military boots like that—it wasn't Katja, it couldn't be.

_But then,_ Carole wondered almost aloud, _who is it?_

"Konstantina Iovanasis? No, you don't have that scar, or did it go away?" Carole squinted at the woman. "Where is Katja? Was she here? She—looks just about exactly like you, but she has…well, her hair—"

"Calm down." The woman laughed. "For legal purposes, my name is Nathalie Steiner. My real name, I'll divulge once we're inside. Your girlfriend is here, she's safe. We'll talk inside. I'll explain everything there. But out here, it's not safe to talk."

Carole frowned. "How do I know that I can trust you?"

"We can talk inside. I told you, it's not safe out here. But, I'll have you know…" She paused. "I know what happened to Konstantina Iovanasis. It's my hunch that she wasn't the only target—I think all of us will be targeted at some point. Your girlfriend isn't safe as long as she's outside of our protection. But if you two work with us, we may be able to protect all of us."

"_All of us, _you said?" Carole's voice rose in pitch. "How many of you are there?"

The woman who looked like Katja extended her hand. "Please come with me. We will discuss it, inside. As long as we're out here, I cannot guarantee anyone's safety. But inside is a different matter."

Although something inside of Carole told her to be wary, her curiosity won out. "Alright." Her voice was low as she took the offered hand and shook. "Take me to see Katja. Once you've shown me that she's safe, we can talk."

The woman's smile was so much like Katja's, it frightened Carole. "That was the plan to begin with. A pleasure to be working with you, Miss Fleischer."

* * *

In Katja's dream, she was in a large store. But it wasn't an ordinary shop—every aisle was filled with masks, and all of the masks were her own face. As she raced up and down the aisles, looking for an exit, she suddenly crashed into someone—it was Konstantina Iovanasis, who smiled at her. "Do you like it? Our newest collection…" she explained. Suddenly, there was the sound of a gunshot—and a gaping bullet wound emerged in Konstantina's chest, spurting blood all over Katja. She screamed as Konstantina collapsed, her eyes wide and unseeing, the last traces of a smile still etched onto her face.

At that moment, all of the masks on the walls came to life. They were all speaking to her, different voices, different accents, different words, all clambering to be heard at once. _"Katja, they're coming for us—"_

_"Run, Katja—"_

_"Help me, Katja—"_

_"Watch out!"_

"Katja?"

Gasping, Katja sat up. She was lying in an unfamiliar room—tucked into a single bed with blue sheets and blankets. Her jacket and boots were laid neatly next to the bed. A vanity sat in one corner, a nightstand with an alarm clock and a lamp on it next to her bed, and another bed identical to her own across the room. And perched next to her, on the edge of the mattress, was—

"Carole!"

Carole reached out and touched Katja's forehead. "Are you alright? You're sweating."

"I'm…I think so." Katja frowned. "I just had the strangest dream, I…where are we?"

"We're in Gloria and Sam Delgado's old room. They're right outside, talking to Mr. and Mrs. MacMillan…" Carole paused. "They brought me here…and they told me everything."

Katja's eyes widened. "What? What did they tell you?"

"That you, Konstantina, and Gloria are all part of some human cloning experiment by some corporate bioengineering group…and there's more of you out there, Gloria said…they don't have any proof, but they think that Konstantina's death was just the first, that someone is targeting the clones…" Carole paused. "It's a lot to take in. Gloria and Sam are working with the MacMillans to try to protect the clones. They've tracked down three others living in Europe…two living in Canada…one in the United States…" She trailed off for a moment, her eyes distant. "I don't know. Gloria says she wants your help to protect the clones and catch whoever killed Konstantina. If it's connected to the…project…then all of you will probably be targeted at some point." Carole stared at the wall behind Katja as she spoke.

Katja pushed her fingertips against Carole's cheek, gently turning Carole to face her. "Carole…why aren't you looking at me?"

Carole fidgeted nervously. "I'm sorry, Katja. I know you didn't ask for any of this. It's just…it's hard to…this is a lot to…I…" Her eyes welled up with tears. "I'm sorry! I know it's wrong that I'm resenting you over this, but…things could have been normal, we never would've had to deal with any of this if we'd just gone home, like I said…but then, if she's right, you might've been next, and…damn! I can't think straight right now!" The next moment, she was clinging to Katja and crying hysterically into Katja's shoulder. "I don't know how to deal with any of this! This isn't…I'm just a secretary! I'm not supposed to have to deal with government conspiracies or—or assassinations or finding out that my girlfriend is part of some freak experiment, or—how am I supposed to feel about this? Please, just tell me, how someone like me gets dragged into something like this!"

"This isn't about you, Carole!" Katja found herself shocked by the forcefulness of her own voice. "Please! I didn't ask for this, either, but…I'm involved because…I was born with this. I know, you told me not to come, but now that we know, that—that someone is probably trying to kill me—what do you want me to do, just go home and pretend like none of this happened? Should I leave the door unlocked to make it easier for them? Should I go out and dance in the middle of traffic, see if that does it for them? Should I—"

"That's enough." Katja jumped at the sound of Gloria's voice. She hadn't even heard Gloria open the door—but indeed, Gloria and Sam stood in the doorway, watching the scene before them—Sam's expression one of concern, Gloria's stoic. "You're both probably tired, and hungry. Tonight, you'll come home with us. After you've had a good meal, a warm shower, and some sleep, we can talk about what comes next."

"I don't want to sleep." Katja spoke without thinking. "Tell me what I'm doing here. What you want from me. You didn't just bring me here to protect me...there's something you want from me. What is it? Tell me now, so I can answer now."

"I think you should wait until you've calmed down a little bit..." Sam suggested, "You're a bit worked up right now, it's not easy to make a big decision when you're—"

"That's why I have to decide now." Katja interrupted. "If I wait until I don't remember this feeling, I'll make a decision I regret later."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Gloria nudged him and shook her head. "It's her decision, Sam. Let me handle this." Sam still looked uncomfortable, but he closed his mouth and stepped back. Gloria squeezed his arm before turning to Katja. "As your partner may have told you, we've located a few of your sisters...one in France, one in Austria, one in Italy. We're going to contact all of them, when the time comes. For now, what we need your help in...is figuring out who is behind the murder of David McAllinger and Konstantina Iovanasis. I can obtain data, easily—but you bring a certain analytical eye to this that we need. We'll find out who is behind this, and what they're doing." She paused. "In the mean time, I've also contacted another one of us...she lives in France, a journalist by the name of Danielle Fournier. I feel she may also be able to assist in this investigation. When the time is right, we'll contact the others. For now, though, I need your answer. Will you help us?"

Carole had finally regained control of herself and was watching Katja quietly, intently, waiting for her answer. Without looking at Carole, Katja replied:

"Yes. I'll help you find the truth." Pause. "But promise that you'll protect Carole and me. That's the only way."

Gloria smiled. "You have my word."

* * *

_**Friday Afternoon  
Paris, France**_

"...and I don't know what to believe, Char, that's why I decided to let you take a look at it. What do you think? Does any of the footage look doctored? Do the identities of the victims check out? You're the computer genius here, that's why I had to ask you..."

Charlene Fournier rolled her eyes, popping a stick of gum into her mouth. "Relax, Dani. Freaking out will not change anything." She paused. "I ran a quick check against public records. Identities of both 'victims' check out...both died...last night, C.O.D. gunshot to the chest. And from what I can tell, none of the security footage was doctored." She blew a large pink bubble, which popped with a soft _pew_ sound. "So you just got this random e-mail from nowhere with this stuff?"

"Yeah. Said it was a...story worth following. But I wanted to make sure it was real before I pursued it." Danielle brushed her hair out of her face. "Thanks for your help, Char."

Charlene shook her head. "Wait, wait, wait. Let me just point out the massive elephant in the room, even if you're not talking about it." She pulled her adoptive sister around to face her. "I see your face on three different people in that video, and none of them is you. What the hell is this all about?"

"I don't know." Danielle sighed. She knew that she couldn't lie to Charlene—they'd known each other for almost 10 years, since Danielle's parents had adopted Charlene from England when Danielle was 18 and Charlene was 10. Now at 27 and 19 years of age, they'd been around each other for the better part of their lives, and Charlene could read Danielle better than anyone else. Danielle couldn't lie and say that she wasn't severely frightened by what she'd received, or that she hadn't been desperately hoping that Charlene's computer skills would reveal a crack in the story, some inconsistency, some inaccuracy, that it would turn out to be an elaborate prank of some sort.

"Alright, perhaps I should rephrase my question." Charlene stretched, leaning back in Danielle's office chair. "What are you going to do? Are you going to look into it? Find out what this is all about? Or are you going to pretend this never happened?"

Danielle was silent. Up until that moment, she'd been so desperately hoping that her sister would tell her the whole thing was fake, that she hadn't considered what she'd do if it turned out to be real. "I guess I'll e-mail this 'Eagle' person back..." She spoke slowly and quietly. "See what I can find out."

"Sounds good." Charlene nodded. "Hey, Dani...do you think this 'Eagle' person is a cop?"

"Why would he be?"

"Well, look...you got security footage, DMV records, and an official report on a crime that only happened last night." Charlene twisted a lock of red hair around her finger. "I'm just saying, if Eagle isn't a cop, then how the bloody hell did he get ahold of all of that stuff?"

Danielle was silent.

* * *

**_Twelve Hours Prior  
_****_London, United Kingdom  
_****_Police Headquarters_**

The detective was absolutely furious. "What do you _mean, '_there's no security footage from the shooting'? I went to the scene of the crime myself. I saw five cameras, at least, in that area!"

"I know, I know! Please, sir, we checked them," the officer pleaded, "but for some reason, they didn't have any data the night of the shooting. We checked the data for those time slots. It's on a loop. Someone must have hacked into the security network and modified the footage…"

"What?"

"Between 7:30 and 8:30, there is no data. It's a repeat of the data from 6:30 to 7:30. Someone changed the camera's data."

The detective hissed softly into his hands. "Great, that's just great. Tell me at least we've got a tight crime scene set up over there, since now, that's all we've got to go on..."

The officer was silent. "It was some time before the shooting was reported...we estimate the first call was made about 2 hours after the shooting. Some girls coming back from a hen party found the bodies and made the call." Pause. "Based on security footage of surrounding areas, at least 2 vehicles left the lot between the shooting and the call. One was a car, reported earlier that day as stolen. One was a motorbike, no plates visible. Neither vehicle has been recovered since."

"Put out a search for them!" The detective was clearly furious. "Offer a reward if someone finds that car! Since you lot couldn't keep this under control, we're going to have to fight to get the upper hand on this case again...and we will. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, sir." the officer stammered, picking up the phone.


End file.
